crash...

So back in August I think I did write about what happened with the bottle of Xanax...but I wanted it to be in a form that could recall the details...so if that idiotic plan ever crosses my mind again...I have something to remind me that is is NOT a good idea.

So this last year...or rather last couple years, have not been the best for me. I have struggled a lot with well, liking girls...I mean let's be honest...that has been the biggest struggle in my life since I was probably 18...actually...I think since I was 12 (but that is another story)...but in the last couple years...having had a reprieve after getting over one girl...I went right ahead and fell in love with another...which sort of sent my life into a tail spin of sorts. One from which, if I am being honest, I really didn't pull out of in time, but rather, did indeed, crash and burn. But apparently Sam, along with the felines of the world, has nine lives...because here I am. Alive, and honestly...doing fairly well. I think the crash and burn came last August...towards the end of the month. But believe you me, I have the exact date of the crash and burn. It looked something like this...and I apologize for the graphic, and somewhat painful image this may be...imagine, or don't...

Sam, standing in her bathroom, leaning over the sink, staring at her self in the mirror. All the confusion of her desires, all the frustrations of her faults, the scars of mistakes past...starring back at her. As thoughts swirl in her head she can't focus, and frustration and confusion become the only emotions she seems capable of experiencing. She leans in closer, hoping that it will bring her a clearer view of herself...that by some miracle she will have the capability to see the girl that she once knew, that she once was. But all it does is magnify the blemishes on her face...only making things worse. She leans back and opens the medicine cabinet. She pulls out the bottle of Xanax; prescribe to her by her doctor to help her sleep better. They don't help at all. They leave her feeling more groggy than she already did. But she hopes that now, they will serve a different purpose. One, that in another life, she might have scoffed at the very thought of, but here, now...it is a welcome reprieve from, well...everything. She opens the bottle and empties the contents into her hand. About fifty or so small, white pills fall into her hand. She looks at the pile of pills. She thought that they might feel like a million pounds, that she would somehow, metaphorically, or something, feel the weight of what she is about to do, in the small pile of pills in her hand...but she doesn't. It feels like nothing. So with that, she throws her hand back and the contents that was once in her hand,is now making its way to the back of her throat...

As I felt those pills begin to make their way past the point of no return, panic overtook me. I fell to my knees and started trying to gag them up. As they came back up into my mouth the thought came to me, "You're such a wuss. Geez. Just do it. It will be over soon." (granted I had no idea if a bottle of Xanax can kill me). So I closed my mouth and began to swallow again...but I couldn't. It was like an unseen force was preventing me from swallowing those pills. And so there I sat...crumpled and defeated on my bathroom floor, with fifty pills, disintegrating on my tongue. This went on for about fifteen minutes...the back and forth...all the while I am adsorbing some of that disintegration...finally I realized that I couldn't do it. I wanted to be dead, I really did. I was tired, and sad, frustrated and exhausted...and overwhelmed...but I couldn't do it. It isn't me. So I spit them out. (And went on to have one of the best night's sleep ever...due to the absorption factor). So that was the crash...then came the burn. Things didn't really get better...I mean, I was alive...so of course that is better...but I still hurt...and I knew I would be living with the hurt.